


The Incredibly Unincredible Armageddon

by onesuperimpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Armageddon, Crowley is Crowley but not, Dry Humor, God is Dead, I basically just used the name, It doesn't make sense, Sam and Dean are literally not in this at all, im so sorry, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3182939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onesuperimpala/pseuds/onesuperimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. where Lucifer thinks God is dead, and Crowley watches this trainwreck timidly</p><p>So, basically, Lucifer is attempting to take over the world. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Incredibly Unincredible Armageddon

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so this is not my first fic but my first published one and I really really hope you enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: it is tagged as supernatural because of some of the characters but is not about supernatural, well, at all

It’s widely known and accepted that God is dead. No, no, not the religion in a figurative sense; a literal death. He died last Tuesday if one were to be exact; 3:45 P.M. It wasn’t as eventful as assumed; brain aneurysm they said. Quick and peaceful and _shockingly_ normal. 

“It really wasn’t exciting to say as much. I kind of hoped for the four horsemen, some fire and some death; the guy just _dropped_ dead. Even in death he was a bore. Anyways, there’s mass hysteria and such.” Crowley gave Lucifer, who picked quietly at his fingernails in boredom, a concerned look. 

“He just _died?_ ” Crowley asked, and Lucifer stopped the thorough investigation of his cuticles. He was slightly dumbfounded when his expectation had not been met. He had expected a different reaction out of Crowley. Some energy; enthusiasm of _any_ sort. 

“Yup. Quick and painless and nothing more. I’m telling you it was _awful_ to hear that _no one_ even died,” Crowley continued to stare at him with the same disbelief. 

“Huh,” was all he could manage, “I quite liked the lad. We played a game of chess once…” Crowley seemed to look a tad bit nostalgic as he leaned against the wall, and Lucifer looked around for anyone who could supply a brand of moral support (he’d even take the store brand). He mused that it must be a sick joke, a horribly, horribly sick joke that God had planned for one last jibe, because he could not _possibly_ be alone with the one demon who had grown fond of _God_. 

“Crowley-” 

“He even gave me a sticker once. Read ‘God is our savior’,” Crowley furrowed his brows together in thought, “which, now that I think of seems a lil’ arrogant...terrific guy nonetheless.” 

“Are you kidding me?” 

“Hm?” Crowley mumbled as though he were not listening at all, and he looked a little misty eyed in the light that was falling on him. 

“God is dead you thick-headed Brit! It’s everything we’ve been waiting for since...oh, I don’t know. Since He made...oh dear me, what was his name? Alfred...Andrew...Adam! Got it. Anyways, since He made Adam and…,” Lucifers shoulders dropped in defeat, “oh no, I’ve lost the other one too.” 

“Eve, sir.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Eve, that’s the one,” Lucifer seemed to have regained his enthusiasm, “it’s everything we’ve been waiting for since Adam and Eve! Since Eve ate that atrocious grape.” 

“It was a pomegranate, sir.” 

“Who the my home cares! Don't you understand? We lived through the 80s for this! For my sake, Crowley, you wore leg warmers and a feather boa for that entire decade! You looked like Tina Turner threw up on you!” 

“I thought Tina Turner was a quality-” 

“Crowley!” Lucifer said, sighing with an exasperation that was going to resign him to bedrest for the next century or so. He had not lived through disco and neon hair bands for _this_. The 1600’s, though, were a different story. He thought he could manage to live through that time period again, “now is not the time.” 

“Time for what?” He asked, and Lucifer had estimated that the wall looked hard enough to bang his head against. He supposed a few rams should- 

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked, tone dropping to a level of concern reserved only for mothers and teachers. 

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, because he had a headache and could not bring himself to argue any longer, “now, here’s the plan. We head up to Earth, and, well, I’ve presumed it’s simple after that because I haven't really figured anything else out if it’s not.” 

“You’ve assumed they’ll hand over control? To _you?_ ” Crowley chuckled, to which Lucifer could find no reasonable cause. There seemed be nothing humorous about his rise to power, and in an insecure state, he wondered if there was anything on his face. 

“Why not?” 

“It’s just…” Crowley started, “ _why_ would they do that?” 

“It’s in the books. Armageddon, Crowley. I’ve won; Earth is mine,” Lucifer replied, and he sounded irritated in a way that told Crowley he had expected everyone to know that already. 

“You haven’t really won anything. The lad died; the books don’t say anything about that. In fact, I’m not quite sure it’s possible.” 

“Of course it is. It’s happened, hasn’t it?” 

“Well, I suppose-” 

“Good, we’ll go up today. Start in the states and make our way around.” 

“What exactly are you planning to do?” Crowley asked. 

“Well, rule and all of those things. Subjugation and genocide; not much different from what’s already happening.” 

-0- 

Earth was much less extravagant than the pair had planned. They had been there plenty of times, and each had left them with the same aching disappointment that seemed to last for centuries until they returned. Crowley had anticipated the mass hysteria Lucifer had claimed, but a man who hardly ever left his chambers other than for food was evidently not the best source of information. The only ‘hysteria’ he could see was the wrong form of ‘you’re’ on a billboard. It was calm; serene. Life went on as planned and there was not even a loss of a star in the sky to be noted. 

“Not what I was expecting. The 60’s were much more exciting,” Crowley said, and there was a sigh of agreement from his left. 

“Yes, quite dull. I will most definitely do something about that.” Lucifer said, and all of a sudden, his eyes lit up with a fire that only he could’ve managed, “Brilliant idea, I think I’ll have a bust of myself made, put it right...there,” Lucifer pointed to a statue of a bunny in the park where they now stood. Children were roaming around it; unassuming and innocent, and the whole scene seemed far too cheerful to be a part of such a thing as Armageddon. It was poetic, and perhaps Lucifer had not picked it for its poeticism, but moreover it was the first thing he laid his eyes on. It may as well have been the fountain with the peeing angels; that would’ve been more poetic. 

“Does it strike you as odd that nothing even seems out of place?” Crowley asked, because he had heard birds singing cheerfully in the distance and a butterfly had even landed on the grass next to him. Shooed away, of course, but it left him with this strange feeling that the world was in tact. 

“Perhaps they disliked the guy in the sky as much as I did. It was a pleasure to rid themselves of him; like you do vermin.” 

“Perhaps,” Crowley glanced one more time around him, finding nothing of particular interest, and turned to Lucifer. He had folded his hands together and looked ready for his plans to commence; the ones he had _not_ made. 

“First rule of business, my dear Crowley, I instate myself as rightful ruler of this quaint little town. Come along.” 

“How?” Lucifer put both his hands on Crowleys shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes with a strange sort of resentment that almost seemed fond. 

“You and your questions. Nag, nag, nag. How? Where? Why? Well, Crowley, it’s just obvious that I should take over, and everyone else will presume so too. They’ve probably been waiting for me to arrive. If I wanted your complaints this would’ve happened in the 90s when you were brooding and listening to Nirvana. Smells like teen hormones you should _not_ have.” 

“Alright, alright. Where to then?” Lucifer scanned his surroundings and decided the giant crown a few streets over was suitable enough. They had to have installed it just for his arrival, and his royal servants and loyal townsfolks would surely be waiting inside to greet him with gifts and food. 

“There,” he said, pointing to it, “we’ll start there.” 

-0- 

There had been no servants, and there had surely been no recognizable townsfolk to worship at his feet, but there had been bacon cheeseburgers and a paper crown which had been sufficient enough. While the disappointment he was feeling almost overshadowed his lust for power, he was not giving up so easily. He put the paper crown on his head (Crowley had assembled it when Lucifer had tried for ten minutes and failed), and, feeling satisfied, smiled at his reflection in the window next to him. 

“I have a crown,” Lucifer said, delighted, “I told you they’ve been waiting for me.” 

“Sir, everyone has one. It’s this silly little thing called democracy,” Crowley replied, and Lucifer scoffed, leaning back in his chair. 

“What an absolutely awful word. What happened to the civilized days of autocracy and dictatorship?” 

“Outlawed them, sir.” 

“Tragic.” 

“Yes, truly.” 

“We’ll fix that.” Lucifer said, and placed another fry in his mouth, “I was never fond of God, but I’ll give him this, the french fries-which, evidently, are not French which is strange-were one of his better creations.” 

“I agree. And the milkshakes.” 

“Those were me. High cholesterol and calories. One of _my_ better creations, if I should say so myself.” 

“Aren’t the french fries worse?” 

“Crowley,” Lucifer said, ignoring the question completely, “you don’t suppose this trip was a bust, do you? I’m starting to think something has gone horribly wrong.” 

“Do not self pity, sir. You cannot fall victim to one of your vices created only for humanity,” Crowley replied, and to that, Lucifer regained his confidence. 

“I know, I know. Self deprecation is such an easy thing to succumb to; perhaps why I made it in the first place. Anyways, we’ll get back to the plan, then.” Lucifer said, and he had a praisable quality of being able to rebound quite quickly on his ideas, even if the future seemed to hold no reward. It did not take just anyone to hold a grudge against God for thousands of years; it was a skill very few possessed. Those who possessed it, of course, also had the time to do so. 

“Your ‘ _game_ ’ plan would be what?” Crowley asked, and Lucifer smiled. He stood, stepping up quietly onto the seat of his chair, and all Crowley could do was stare. In his defense, he was not well versed in the customs of mankind, and was not quite sure if it was acceptable to stand up on your chair in a fast food establishment. 

“People of this small, and dreadful town,” Lucifer said, and he had now gotten everyone’s attention. They looked up from their burgers and meaningless conversations about their day to the man who was unknowingly making a fool of himself, “it is I, Lucifer. Please, no pictures, I have not washed my face today and what they say about all press being good press is extremely untrue. I am here to declare ownership of your atrociously boring town, and you may all bow down to your supreme ruler,” there was a laugh from the back of the restaurant, and Lucifer pressed on, “now, come, stand up and bow down.” 

“Would you sit down!” Someone yelled, and Lucifer was appalled at the cruelty he had received from a man with a stained t-shirt and ketchup in the corners of his mouth. Did they not see that he owned this barbaric enterprise, and, not to mention, everything else in the world? And he had even decided to be lenient with these people, but he was finding no room for leniency in a room full of ungrateful mortals. He remembered then why he had avoided Earth as much as he could manage, preferring the solitude of his room and the many perks of immortality. Even Hell was nicer than this. 

“Crowley, some help if you please.” 

“I think, sir, that they’re laughing at you.” 

“Yes, yes, I’ve gathered as much, but _why?_ Is it because I don’t have my scepter? I knew I should’ve brought it...” 

“No, no, I don’t believe it’s that. I don’t think they believe you.” 

“Odd,” Lucifer responded, and now he was thoroughly disappointed with how his subjugation was turning out. He’d met cattle more cooperative than these people, and at least cattle had the decency to be grateful. 

“Perhaps you should get down.” 

“Maybe, I do think that may improve our situation,” Lucifer contemplated this and then fell back into his seat, “to continue, I do believe I’m going to need some more of those not-french fries.” 

-0- 

“What on Earth is this called again?” Lucifer asked, because he had eaten about twelve of these cinnamon rods and he was about ready to buy the mans cart. He guessed he could just take it; it was his, after all. 

“Churros. It’s a human thing.” 

“They’re delightful,” he replied, watching the world, undisrupted, go on. Like clockwork they spun; round and round they went with no foreseeable end, “Crowley, I do think I’m feeling what they call melancholy.” 

“They don’t really say that anymore. I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘sadness’, sir.” 

“I don’t quite like it.” Lucifer said, and finished his churro as he rested comfortably on the park bench. 

“No, I didn’t think you would. You did create it for the downfall of mankind, and not for supernatural beings such as you.” 

“Yes, I did. It was simpler then; I just made it and did not have to give it a name. Why name things you can feel instead?” Lucifer asked, and he was quiet once again. 

“Don’t you think it’s odd that nothing seems out of place? There’s no madness or chaos. Who told you God had died, anyways?” 

“Well, Death, of course. He owed me after he lost rummy last time, and I guess this was his way of thanking me. He let me know as soon as it had happened.” 

“What was the outcome of the game?” 

“He lost 105 to 545.” 

“You don’t suppose he’s lied to you, do you?” 

“I don’t believe so,” Lucifer said, and he wondered for a moment if he _had_ been lied to; deceived completely into believing he could rule a town that already had a ruler. Realization dawned on him in a burst that made him feel as though he might explode, “Crowley, I think we should go see our old friend Death while we’re in town.” 

-0- 

Death lived in a nice little house on the corner of Pleasant Avenue and Flowers Street, and the irony was almost tangible. He was a tall, thin man in a dark suit that did not help with his already paling complexion, and he was friendly when it suited him so. He did not find he wanted to be nice when Lucifer stormed into his house, the crown still perched on top of his head. 

“Death, my friend, I believe you’ve lied to me.” 

“Lied?” Death asked coyly, pencil resting carefully against his fingers. He had been in the middle of writing a column for the _Newsweek_ about mysterious deaths, because even the horsemen of Armageddon needed to occupy their time. It was turning out to be a tedious tasks, because having knowledge of every death that had ever occurred seemed to take the mystery aspect away. 

“Yes, you know _exactly_ what I’m talking about. You’re a sore loser, did you know that?” Lucifer asked, and Crowley had backed himself into a corner, anticipating the fight to come, “lose one game of rummy and all of a sudden Gods dead.” 

“Oh, that,” Death replied casually, “I wondered when you might realize that God doesn’t just _die_. He made me see to that.” 

“Well, I see it _now_. I have one question: _why_?” 

“Boredom, I think, and I had a winning streak going on; losing destroyed that. I thought I could get you in another way. Turns out I could,” Death said, and he was amused, sounding as though he may break off into laughter that brought tears to his eyes and convulsions to his stomach, “you’re just as perceptive as I had assumed.” 

“I’m going to make my best bet and say you’re insulting me,” Lucifer said, and he closed his eyes in irritation, 

“You are capable of thought on elementary level it seems,” Death replied, and continued to write the next paragraph. He looked as though he thought the conversation to be of minimal importance. 

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” 

“Where _is_ God anyways?” 

“Somewhere in the Bahamas. He told me he needed a vacation,” Death replied, and placed his pen down on the table. He had not gotten up since Lucifer walked in, and he retained his casual composure easily. Not that it was worth any one thing, really; Death didn’t feel much of anything at all. It allowed times like these to feel unphased, “are we done now? I had my fun with you, but now I really must get back to this article. I’m running behind on it.” 

“That’s truly it?” 

“Truly.” 

“Well, Death, my old friend, it seems our game of Rummy cannot be played next week.” 

“Backgammon, then?” Death asked, and Lucifer sighed. He was beginning to realize how much he despised Earth, and he wasn’t sure as to why he ever wanted it in the first place. Something about his long lasting bitterness to being kicked out of Heaven. 

“Backgammon it is,” Lucifer replied, defeated, and he turned to look at Crowley who seemed fractionally less worried than he had before, “come, Crowley, why don’t we go play with the Hellhounds and drink wine. It has been a _long_ day,” he said, and decided he would not be coming back to Earth until the turn of the century when the right practices had been reinstalled, and the world lived happily under the rule of a dictator. Until then, he supposed Backgammon was a _fine_ game to play. 


End file.
